


Aware of the Cost

by cynthia_arrow (thesilverarrow)



Series: Some Lost ficlets [9]
Category: Lost
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/cynthia_arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She knows she's dying.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aware of the Cost

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted to livejournal, 2009. A direct response to 5.16 "The Incident."
> 
> Original notes: (1) For the first time in ages, a Lost character started talking to me, and it was Juliet. She said things because of a Placebo song ("Come Undone"), so I've taken the title of this piece from it. (2) I've been reading Faulkner and Gertrude Stein lately. That probably explains some tonal and stylistic things, but maybe not enough. In other words, this is perhaps slightly weird; fair warning.)

She knows she's dying. She's a doctor. She's not thinking of dying, though. She's thinking of over. She is in a hole at the bottom of the universe, and all of the universe is coming and coming and coming, and she's thinking of how to stop it.  
  
But she's not thinking of the bomb at first, like she'd tried not to think of it at all. It was so abstract before, what Jack had planned that she wanted to do but didn't want to do, and didn't want to do or not do simply because she was scared.  
  
She's not scared now, not of dying, anyway. She's scared of what Rose and Bernard are scared of. She thinks that now, at the bottom of a hole in the universe, she knows enough to keep on living. She'd laugh if it wouldn't rip her open, spill her out.  
  
She knows she's dying. She's a doctor. Besides, it doesn't take a doctor. Everything hurts. Still, hurt is not a reason to end things. If she were up there and not down here, she could still see down to the bottom of James's eyes, and Jack's, and see how they wanted to stop hurting but didn't know how. Obviously, for this is not how. The hurt can't be stopped. She knows that now.  
  
But she's not thinking of Jack, or even of James. She can't, even if he's one of the things to keep on living for. She let go of that when her hand was wrenched out of his. That's what she's thinking of, the pull, the weight, the world being sucked down and down and down where she is.  
  
But she's still not thinking of the bomb because, really, she's not really thinking at all. None of those things about hurt and living and what Rose and Bernard know, what she knows now. She doesn't have time to think, just to feel. And reach out for the answer. It doesn't smash so easily.  
  
She knows she's dying. She's a doctor. Besides, everything hurts. But hurt is not the reason for the answer. This is bigger than her, even if it's as small as the palm of her hand, the muscle under the skin, the rock digging in but the world still not smashing away. Especially now, as everything stops but the breaking, the pounding, the movement of her whole soul to do it, she doesn't think of Jack, even if she's working through his plan. His plan is no less abstract now that she's crashed down to the bottom than it was when he looked at her with the hurt at the bottom of his heart.  
  
But this is not about the hurt or the plan or even the bomb. It's actually very simple: nothing will stop, everything will keep not stopping until she gets it done, so she needs to get it done.  
  
There are so many things she doesn't think about, because she's not thinking at all. Like how once in Miami, she went to help the Red Cross after a hurricane, and the lines never stopped, and it seemed like the world was filled with people who needed, and none of them didn't need. Not that she believes the world is or isn't dying or doomed. It's not about that. She simply can't wrap her brain around the lines and lines of people, and then, as she was heading out here through the jungle, she saw not the hurt but the lines and lines of days stretched out behind her, neverending, all.  
  
She doesn't think of them, though. She doesn't think at all, just tries to make it stop. Her life doesn't flash before her eyes. The world flashes, and then it's over.


End file.
